Astrid's Guide to the Thunder Run
by Lala2003
Summary: Astrid Hofferson is an ardent fan of dragon racing, the high-speed, electrifying tournament of epic proportions. With a new season on the horizon, she wants nothing more than to get out on the track. But until she's seventeen & old enough to compete, she must live vicariously through her best friend. But he keeps her at arm's length & she doesn't even know his real name. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Astrid Hofferson is an ardent fan of dragon racing, the high-speed, electrifying tournament of epic proportions. With a new season on the horizon, she wants nothing more than to get out on the track. But until she's seventeen and old enough to compete, she must live vicariously through her best friend. But he keeps her at arm's length and she doesn't even know his real name. Modern AU.

* * *

Chapter One

Astrid Hofferson lived for dragon racing. It was in her blood. Ever since she was little, Astrid had watched the races on her boxy TV in the living room, then on a chunky predecessor to a plasma as a pre-teen, and every upgrade before their swanky smart television fixed to the lounge wall downstairs. But even the high-definition, 4K screen with richer colours and ultra black technology couldn't hold a candle to actually watching the races in person.

She considered herself a very lucky girl to live so close to one of the most televised circuits around the world. Whenever racing events fell on a weekend, her father would take her up to watch the events in real-time. The best part? He scored them VIP tickets every time, in a fancy glass box with snacks, refreshments and _heating_. But seriously, if she had to stand out in the frigid Berkian air with everyone else, she wouldn't have minded, as long as she had a front-row seat to all the action.

That didn't mean she wasn't hoping for the same treatment and perks next month when the races returned to the city of Berk. But she was worried she'd pushed her luck too far, breaking curfew on all bar one night, _and_ sneaking out to the twin's rager the weekend before. The grounding was bearable, and she begrudgingly admitted that, yeah it was probably well deserved, but if she was forced to miss the biggest event of the season, _all Hel would break loose_. She hoped Dad knew this and wouldn't chance doling out such a punishment.

Besides, her father loved dragon racing almost as much as she did. It was his bread and butter; his livelihood. As the chairman of the _Berkian Dragon Racers Club_, the man was thrilled to discover his daughter held the sport in such high regard, hoping to enshrine the family business within her. Collectively, the BDRC owned the _Drekahjarta Stiliodrome_[1], Berk's home circuit and the most dangerous raceway in the modern world. Mr. Hofferson didn't need to pull any strings for the VIP tickets, after all, he was the puppet master.

Hopefully one day, his influence would land her an internship with the local team, _Þruma_[2], and she could start racing competitively. Although for several reasons, that was just a pipe dream right now. Dragons were prohibitively expensive to keep, and, while her father was a successful businessman, outside of the Paddocks (a holographically rendered biome, tailored for dragon rearing, owned by team _Þruma_), the idea of caring for a dragon within the city limits was laughable. But that wasn't really a big deal considering the internship was out of reach anyway, well at least until she turned seventeen and entered the age bracket for professional riders.

Sipping on a can of diet soda, Astrid rewatched footage of the latest race playing on the laptop precariously balanced on her knees. The screen cast her face in an unnaturally sharp glow as she sat up in her bed, her neck propped by a stack of memory foam pillows. She should probably be asleep… maybe? Five minutes longer should be okay.

The video was of qualifying for the upcoming races: _the Thunder Run_ — the biggest event of the racing calendar. This season, Qualifying had been hosted at one of her personal favourite venues, the _Ísfjall Raceway_[3]. She especially liked the track as it wove through the perilous peaks of the Alps, a dangerous circuit through the snowy mountain range that took skill, discipline and _guts_ to even attempt a lap, let alone compete in a high-speed competition on dragonback.

In the lead was Astrid's favourite dragon, Toothless, the one and only _Night Fury_. She liked this pairing the most because they always seemed to enjoy racing. Everyone else took themselves far too seriously, but this duo knew how to have fun.

Like in equestrian tournaments, racers were known by their dragon's name rather than the rider's, although it seemed only Toothless' rider named his dragon in the same vein as a jockey might. While spectators regularly placed bets on their favourite _scales and leathers_[4] regardless of colourful monikers, most riders believed a hideous name would scare off the other racers, like Firehawk, Hookfang or _Death_ (a less-than-stellar name actually used by a rider last season). Not Toothless' rider though, apparently he still had a sense of humour and upheld the tradition of giving his mount a silly name in order to become favourite. Not that he needed the name to grab people's attention, their winning streak did that all by itself.

But what really set him aside from other racers was the fact that he never removed his helmet for the cameras, even after a record-breaking victory. No one knew who was behind the mask.

Toothless didn't fly for a team either. He and his rider were privately sponsored by an anonymous benefactor. This was apparent because his black overalls bore no logos, insignias or trademarks. No colour, aside from the red accents on his jacket lapels and some matching crimson piping along the seams of his trousers. The one racing fashion he did conform to was the crimson crest inked on his right pauldron; a skull with horns, like a Viking helmet.

Ever since his first appearance at the beginning of the season, _Þruma_ had been trying to sign the racer and bind him with an iron-clad contract. But his mysterious patron continued to fund the solo rider and no amount of monetary compensation seemed to be able to tempt him into signing his away his independence to the racing conglomerate.

He was brave, choosing not to ride behind their banner; _Þruma's_ manager was a very powerful man who didn't take no for an answer.

It was the final lap and Toothless was nearing the finish line. Astrid watched his rider quickly glance over his shoulder, the evil-looking monstrous nightmare, Fireworm, was still hot on their tail. With just one corner left, the nightmare started to pull a little ahead, but her rider was still spurring her forwards, neglecting to pay attention to the bend in the track. They were moving way too fast and the rider couldn't communicate his rushed commands and they missed the turn, spinning out of control.

On his rider's cue, Toothless cornered sharply, maintaining most of his speed and they crossed the finish line in first place. The rider's arms shot up and Astrid imagined him to have released a triumphant _whoop_ as they glided through the air. Pausing the video, Astrid closed the laptop lid, plunging the room into darkness

This race marked the official end of Qualifying, and also the end of Christmas break. Her school, Berk Academy, was well funded, packed with state-of-the-art tech and she had lots of friends, but she couldn't repress the soft sigh that escaped her lips; week days leading up to a big race at the 'drome always felt excruciatingly slow. And the _Thunder Run_ promised to be the best yet.

* * *

Everyone was talking about the results on the first morning back. Toothless had won himself poll position for the first of the races, followed by Dagur and his dragon, Shattermaster. Next was Eret and his dragon, Skullcrusher — apparently reared by the manager of _Þruma_ himself, before being paired up with Eret last year.

The list went on, and Astrid already had the lineup memorised, so she shut out their speculative chatter as she crossed the crowded hallway on the way to her locker. Her friend, Ruffnut was at her own locker a few doors over, pulling out a hefty textbook for period one. The other girl was about to head off to homeroom when she spotted Astrid and waved hello.

Ruffnut was trouble incarnate. And that was putting the chaos wrought by the twins _lightly_. Today, she was wearing a green jumper with a pair of high-waisted, denim jeans with holes in the knees. Her feet were stuffed into a pair of scuffed-up combat boots and her hair was pulled into a messy braid draped over her shoulder. She looked pretty normal, except for the gleam of mischief hiding in the corner of her eye.

"What's up?" she greeted, her voice was a textured rasp, weathered by bouts of mirthy cackles.

"Nothing much. Did you have a nice Christmas?" she asked distractedly. Her binder had gotten lost underneath a stack of books and for one heart-stopping moment, she thought she'd left it at home.

"Yeah! Tuff and I made this marshmallow cannon out of candy canes and granny's knicker elastic and then we…" Ruffnut continued to describe how the two of them had waged war against their younger cousins with little more than confectionary and undergarments, but Astrid was only half-listening.

Strutting down the hallway with an air of swaggering _self_-importance was the _self_-proclaimed 'A-lister', Snotlout Jorgenson. Even though he was in the year above, Astrid was the coolest girl in the school and he had this dumb notion that his 'status' made them perfect for each other. She briefly considered climbing into her locker and getting Ruff to shut the door, but it really was too full and that was the _only_ reason she dismissed the idea.

"Hey babe," he greeted, sticking out his chest and not-so-subtly flexing his biceps as he leant against the neighbouring locker. "I'll walk you to your homeroom," he insisted, trying to sound suave, but coming off as arrogant above than anything else.

Astrid knew better than to say anything that could possibly be interpreted as flirtatious. "I'm good." She slammed her locker shut aggressively.

"Come on, don't be like that. I'll even carry your books…" he trailed off invitingly, making a grab for her folder.

"Nope."

Snotlout was undeterred, as always. "You don't have to be shy. I know you like me, so why does it matter if we look like a couple?"

And as usual, he was way off base. "Okay, I'm not ready for this much stupid so early," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "When will you get it through your thick head that I don't like you, Snotlout?" she asked tiredly.

The flirty riposte was gearing up on his lips, but an awkward cough from behind left it dying on his tongue.

"Erm… I need to get to my locker," spoke a nasally voice, dropping off into silence under snotlout's heated glare.

With his shoulder angled away from the lockers, Astrid could get a better look at the person who had interrupted Snotlout, and who apparently had been her locker neighbour for the past term. He was of a much smaller build and had a mop of auburn hair that fell into his emerald green eyes. Hiccup Haddock — she recognised him from history class.

"No you don't," Snotlout dismissed testilly. "Now go away." He made a _move along, now_ gesture that usually sent weedy fishbones like this kid scurrying down the hallway in fright. "Where were we?" he asked, returning his attention to Astrid with his best smoulder.

"You were making a pass at Astrid and tanking it… _hard_," Hiccup supplied. The way he phrased it wasn't outwardly antagonising, which was why it took a moment for the jock's dim-witted brain to register the insult.

Astrid barely stifled her laughter and Ruffnut immediately dissolved into a fit of raucous cackles. That was pretty ballsy, calling Snotlout out like that.

"Right — Uh! No!" Snotlout flailed for a comeback and finding none, his mind turned to violence and he made a fist. "You're gonna pay for that, Haddock."

As if only just realising he'd spoken out loud, the boy's face contorted into delayed horror. His mouth hung comically open then silently formed the very fitting word '_crap_'.

Thinking on her feet, Astrid decided to spare him, at the expense of a Snotlout-free morning for herself.

"Snotlout, no. I can't stand violence," she said, voice sweetly saddened for the jock's benefit. She thought she was over-doing it, but apparently that was what it took to get through to him and his under-developed empathetic radar.

No doubt he'd take this as a sign of her affection, but she went for it anyway, or else chance the auburn-haired boy finding himself in Snotlout's crosshairs once more. "Please walk me to class," she added, fluttering her lashes.

Snotlout lowered his arm and sucked in his gut, suddenly attentive to only her. "I knew you'd come around," he replied with a sleazy grin.

As the three of them walked away, she saw the other boy breathe a sigh of relief and mouth in her direction, _I owe you_, with his hands pressed together in thanks.

* * *

She didn't see Hiccup again for the rest of the week, not even after history. But _boy_ did she get her fill of Snotlout's attention. She had expected that leading him on like that would cause a whole host of problems, but she didn't know the half of it.

Every morning he was twice as persistent about walking her to homeroom. Whereas the other kid, who she'd actually half hoped she'd run into again (if only to square his debt), had started going to his locker early in order to avoid Snotlout, and so her as well. Snotlout waited for her after each period, appointing himself as her own personal chaperone, and she was _this_ close to socking him in the arm the next time she saw his stupid face.

But finally, the week from Hel ended and Saturday rolled around; race day.

Her father drove them both up to the stiliodrome early in the morning, even though the race wasn't due to start until midday. With her gold VIP pass strung around her neck, she was welcomed into the viewing lounge, but the other guests hadn't arrived yet, so she ignored her father's request to stay there and left to explore the wider track.

It wasn't long before she found herself in the Pit. In a few hours, it would be closed to guests, but before the race began VIP ticket holders could come and go as they pleased. Astrid regularly exercised this privilege.

The glass walkway leading out to the Pit was the only entrance to the semi-annexed structure. Each rider had their own alcove where they could tend to their beasts and prep their riding gear. The Pit was circular, with a huge domed roof suspended by glass dividers that sorted riders into one of twelve segments. Each dragon's alcove led out to a platform that thrust out over the track. It sat on top of a large pillar and was raised above the normal height flown at during a race.

Not all of the riders had turned up at the venue yet, and only a third of those who qualified last weekend could be found here.

Of course both of _Þruma's_ riders who had qualified were already there as they had no distance to travel for the championships, as well as most of the supporting team members and even their manager, the fearsome _Stoick the Vast_. His booming voice sounded over the cacophony of scales and leathers gearing up for the race and his heavy-set form moved around Skullcrusher and Eret's sector.

A handful of other dragons were there as well, including Toothless and his rider. Suddenly, a little jolt of excitement saw her traversing the Pit towards their alcove.

Toothless was laying down, his head resting on his front paws, but he perked up when he spotted her not-so-sneaky approach. The rider, who had been bent over, adjusting the Night Fury's saddle, was tipped off by his dragon and looked up through the slits of his helmet at the same time.

She offered a nervous wave. It was so unlike Astrid to be star-struck, but here she was excitedly hovering in front of her idol. Even through the mask, she could tell he was surprised to see her standing there by the way he did a double-take. But he must have gotten his fair share of visitors, so why would he react that way?

"Um, hi," said Astrid, then, feeling foolish tacked on, "That was all," and turned to leave, internally dying.

"Wait." He stopped her and she spun back around. "You said two words," he said with teasing disbelief, holding up the same number of gloved fingers.

Darn, he noticed. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "Hi, I'm Astrid," she said, with a little more confidence.

"Hey, I'm Hi- his rider," he returned, gesturing to Toothless with his thumb.

"Don't _you_ have a name?" she asked, immediately wishing she hadn't in case she sounded rude or worse, stupid.

"I have a name," he replied evenly. "I just can't tell you what it is." He rapped his knuckles against the metal of his helmet. "Secret identity and all." He shrugged. The texture of his voice was oddly familiar considering it had never been recorded in an interview before.

"Right, right. But why, though?" she blurted out without thinking.

She half expected him to tell her that was a dumb question, or tell her nothing and end the conversation, but to her surprise and relief, he didn't.

"'Cause I don't want to be pestered by teams trying to sign me off the track as well as on it," he answered with another shrug. "That and one other reason," he added mysteriously. Astrid had a strong feeling he wasn't going to elaborate. "Speak of the devil," the rider commented humorlessly, while tracking something moving beyond the curve of her shoulder.

She turned to look for herself. Striding towards the pair was the hulking form of Stoick the Vast, his black slacks rustling with each business-ey step. Mystery rider pretended to busy himself with the saddle once more, but that didn't stop Stoick from coming over for another pretty one-sided chat.

"A-hem." The rider's gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the straps of the saddle. A benefit of no one knowing your name, Astrid guessed, was that it made it much easier to ignore people you didn't like. "Mr. Rider, sir," Stoick tried again with polished professionalism.

With a deep sigh, he looked up. "Yes?"

"Have you considered my offer since we last met?" he enquired. The man ignored Astrid completely, acting as if she wasn't privy to this stilted discussion.

"With the greatest respect, _Mr Haddock_, I have no intention of ever accepting, so please... buzz off." He motioned for the older man to depart, practically shoving him out of his alcove.

It was hard not to snicker at the irritated scowl that creased Stoick's features and the indignant purple flush that coloured his neck. Frustrated but not defeated, he strategically retreated to team _Þruma's_ corner to lick his wounds. Something told Astrid that he wasn't nearly done yet.

Once the middle-aged manager had gone, it occurred to her that the rider could be pretty curt when he wanted to be, but instead he had been nothing but polite towards her. If he really wanted her to leave, he'd have no problem telling her to get lost. Just like that, she felt assured that her company was welcome.

"Wow. That was intense," she commented, bolstered by her revelation. "I've never seen anyone stand up to him like that."

"Oh, erm… yeah. I guess I've had a lot of experience dealing with him — I —er mean people like him," he hastilly corrected himself.

Toothless pushed his nose into the rider's face comfortingly, as if understanding what he really meant, but couldn't say in front of Astrid. When he spotted her staring wistfully at the dragon, an idea popped into his head.

"Do you want to pet him?" he asked.

Astrid nodded fervently. "Do I!"

The rider held out his hand for her and she took it. Gently, he placed her palm to Toothless' flank. It was warm and smooth, the black scales shifting under her touch as he wriggled around. Guided by a larger gloved hand, Astrid softly pet the huge reptile, who leaned into her fingers as they worked around his body into the crook of his neck.

All of a sudden, Toothless went limp and collapsed to the floor. Astrid jumped back in surprise, landing ungracefully on her butt, but the rider's muffled laughter put her at ease.

"Listen," he told her.

Toothless was purring loudly, his chest rising and falling in rhythmic vibrations. She laughed too, amazed that the dragon was acting like a giant pussy-cat. He helped her to stand, both of them in stitches from Toothless' disappointed pout that the scratches had ended. Who knew dragons could pout?

"He's amazing," said Astrid in awe.

She stayed in the Pit right up until the race began and talked to the rider the whole time, learning about his favourite tracks (the _Ísfjall Raceway_ was one of his highest ranked too), race strategy, and even tips on how to care for a dragon. Astrid was struck with the distinct impression that Toothless did not live in a paddock, and had her suspicions that he often shared his rider's bed.

Soon the race officials told Astrid that she couldn't be in the Pit any longer.

"I'll see you later?" she asked hopefully.

"You can count on it," Toothless' rider replied, sticking up a leather-clad thumb in place of a smile, but she could hear his grin in the lilt of his voice anyway.

A soft blush dusted her cheeks. In her peripheral, she saw the same official tapping his watch impatiently, hurrying her up. Still smiling away, Astrid allowed herself to be escorted back to the VIP room and to her seat, close to the pane of glass overlooking the race course. The stands below were lined with spectators, cheering on their favourite competitors.

The dragons lined up in formation on the start line, with Toothless out front in poll position. She watched the digital face of the jumbotron count down the seconds until the race began.

3…

2…

1…

Go!

* * *

[1] This is the name of the dragon racing track in Berk. The first part, _Drekahjarta_, is Icelandic, meaning dragon heart. The second half is latin (_Stiliodrome_), _stilio_ means lizard, and the _drome_ part comes from the word _autodrome_, which is another word for race track. **{I invented a whole new word for this fanfiction lol.}**

[2] Thunder in Icelandic. Pronounced _Thruma_.

[3] Because of its location in the Alps, the _Ísfjall Raceway_ gets its name from 'ice mountain' in Icelandic.

[4] _Scales and leathers_ is a nickname for dragons and their riders because when dragon racing first began, they wore thick leather to protect their skin, like motorcyclists. In recent years, they have started to wear four layers of flameproof overalls, made of a fire resistant material called _Nomex_. A rider's helmet must be able to resist an 800 degree celsius flame for at least 45 seconds, as well as big G forces. The helmets are so strong that they can be driven over by trucks with no damage being done to them.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello and thanks for reading the first chapter of _Astrid's guide to the Thunder Run_! I had so much fun writing this and coming up with names for the different tracks etc. I haven't given up writing my other story, _a Call to Arms_, and I may not continue with this one as I feel like a modern AU for httyd is going to be really challenging. It sort of depends on the response this first chapter receives, so if you want more, please follow, favourite and review to tell me what you liked or thought could be improved. Until (hopefully) next time!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Astrid Hofferson is an ardent fan of dragon racing, the high-speed, electrifying tournament of epic proportions. With a new season on the horizon, she wants nothing more than to get out on the track. But until she's seventeen and old enough to compete, she must live vicariously through her best friend. But he keeps her at arm's length and she doesn't even know his real name. Modern AU.

* * *

Chapter Two

The jumbotron screen flashed with big green lettering: _GO!_

In tight synchronicity, the racers sped away from the chequered banner and into the first corner. The track folded itself into a tight hairpin turn, the inside of the bend traced neatly by Toothless' flightpath, a black blur hurtling through the course. Looking to overtake, Eret steered Skulcrusher wide, but his larger wingspan meant he risked being forced out of bounds.

_In such a close competition, he can't afford the time penalty and has to back off,_ thought Astrid, reading his moves with the trained eye of an expert.

Before _Eldingar_™[1], dragon racing code was pretty much a free for all. There was no out of bounds… or at least no reliable way of penalising riders when they cut corners. If the referee didn't pull you up for taking shortcuts, there would be no penalty for cheats. Now though, Drekahjarta, like all other official raceways, was outlined by a semi-transparent, electric blue border that enclosed the entire track; a series of criss-crossing laser beams lining the circuit fringes marked the boundaries that both beautified and levelled the playing field.

The best riders had a good sense of three-dimensional spatial awareness. Break the beam with a wingtip, lose ten points; stay within the stiliodrome limits without being forced out _and _lock in a speedy time and the race was as good as yours. But you had to be aware of what was going on all around you. And above everything, you needed to work as a team.

The course levelled out, but then coiled into a nauseating corkscrew path skyward.

It took agility and endurance to remain within the circuit borders during this leg of the race. Astrid felt empathically dizzy.

Eret stuck close to Toothless' tail, using the other dragon's updraft to his advantage. This tactic meant that Skullcrusher expended less energy during the climb and pulled ahead fractionally moving into the next leg.

Next, the track arched into a near-vertical drop. Toothless folded his wings into a dive down the neon blue tunnel. Skullcrusher plummeted faster, giving in to gravity, but his meaty frame was met with more resistance and he had to open his wings earlier to slow his fall.

But Toothless was far more agile. He held the dive until the final moment, pulling out of it mere _millimeters_ from the base of the tunnel.

In a clumsy attempt to claw back the lead, Eret spurred 'Crusher through the next corner, but flew too close to the upper limit of the stiliodrome, setting off the sensor as the dragon's horn disrupted the laser feedback. The whole zone flashed red, alerting Eret to the error and he hastily corrected his flightpath in response.

The zone flashed red again, the klaxon sounding a second warning, but not for Eret and Skullcrusher. Gaining on his left was Dagur and Shattermaster who had just attempted an unsuccessful overtake in a bid for second place and accidently touched the holographic sides of the stiliodrome.

_With Toothless way out in front now, and both riders disadvantaged by a time penalty, that's all they have left to race for_, Astrid realised.

Toothless entered the home straight and crossed the finish line, face breaking into a dopey grin and tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth.

With an upwards glance at his thrilled rider, he fired a triumphant plasma blast down their path. It hurtled towards one of the stands — its poor occupants screaming shrilly — but exploded before impact in a huge plume of orange flames. Astrid watched the rider's shoulders sag as Toothless flew into the blaze, emerging from the other side in a shower of smouldering sparks.

When the pair circled back around, she could've sworn he looked up at the VIP box and sent a thumbs up gesture her way.

* * *

It was track policy that not even VIP guests were permitted back inside the Pit after a race; too much lingering tension between competitors. One too many lawsuits following a particularly ugly brawl pushed her father into introducing the rule, but no way was that going to stop Astrid from trying her luck. She had to see him again before she left.

A crowd of reporters and a few highbrow media moguls crowded the walkway, kept out by a small platoon of elite security guards, denying them entrance. No doubt the reporters were hoping for an altercation between Toothless' rider and the other racers for stealing yet _another_ victory away from them. In spite of the closed door, producers demanded coverage, so here they were, dutifully wasting their time — as if any of the racers were dumb enough to give them a story.

Slipping between cameramen and glamorously made up news anchors, Astrid broke through to the front of the crowd. Catching the attention of the nearest guard, she tried flashing her golden pass in his direction, but his beefy arm swung up and blocked her path.

"Please, two minutes?" she asked, trying to scoot past his broad frame.

The guard shook his head and positioned himself more obstructively between her and the entrance, arms folded across his torso. She pursed her lips and stuck out her hip.

Not above pulling rank, Astrid tried again. "I'm Astrid _Hofferson_. My dad chairs the BDRC—"

The reporters quietened to a background buzz as the huge door at the end of the walkway slid open. The obstinate guard wasn't listening anyway, so she opted to press pause on arguing her case… just for a moment.

"She's with me," spoke a voice from behind the security guard.

When the guard moved aside, standing there was just the person she came to see, coated in a thick layer of ash and still fully kitted out in his riding gear. The guard's eyebrows shot upwards into his hairline.

The noise of the clamouring reporters returned tenfold like the crushing wave of a tsunami when the rider held out his hand for the second time that day; an invitation inside. She slipped her hand into his, not minding the black smudges of soot that now caked her fingers — _totally worth it_ — and let herself be pulled into the Pit. The door slammed behind her, shutting out the nosey reporters.

The two of them stared at one another for a beat, then doubled over in stitches.

"Did you see the look on his face!?" Astrid laughed, contorting her features into a pale imitation of the security guard's befuddled expression.

"No-No, it was more like this!" wheezed the rider in a brief moment of composure. Astrid laughed even harder. "Am I right?"

"How the heck do I know?" she managed between fits of giggles.

"Wha— Oh." He must've forgotten he was still wearing his helmet. _What a dork._

She tapped his visor, underlining his silly slip-up. "Secret identity and all," she echoed their first conversation in a melodical tease.

Mirroring her action, he reached up and tapped a finger to her nose, leaving a trail of charcoal ash over the tip. She scrunched up her face, crossing her eyes to look at the mark. The funny expression earned an entertained snort from the rider and she beamed back at him, glowing.

She felt his gloved fingers wriggle between her own and realised they were still holding hands. He let her go and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Astrid imagined the adorably bashful look playing out on his features and resisted the urge to yank off his stupid helmet.

Before she could give into temptation, a force barreled into the rider's calves that sent him stumbling forwards. Astrid moved out to catch him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Appearing guiltily from behind his rider, Toothless all but pushed the boy aside a second time in his excitement to greet her, tail swishing like an excited puppy.

"Hey Toothless," she cooed, straining to scratch him under his large chin with the tips of her fingers. "What a race! Congrats."

He purred in reply, stretching his neck up to give her better access to his favourite spots. His rider was still leaning on her heavily …_Huh, deceptively muscular… _she noted as she struggled to support his sculpted body.

"Thanks for that, bud," he grumbled, peeling away from Astrid.

She looked down at her clothes and the lovely new smears of soot decorating the front from where he had been pressed up against her. It would wash out, but it would mar her outfit for the day. Not that she minded, _nothing_ could spoil today.

"Sorry," he apologised. "Let me…" He brushed a hand down her chest, adding to the smears instead of clearing off the mess. Then abruptly jumped back when he realised exactly where he was touching. "Gods — I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, embarrassed.

She turned red, slugging him on the shoulder, but not that hard and only to cover up her own awkwardness.

"Don't sweat it," she assured, not ready to meet his eyes… or the general area where she supposed his eyes would be if not for the mask.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket, the electronic chime filling the vacuumous silence. It was Dad.

"I've gotta go," said Astrid after hanging up. But instead of slipping her phone back into her pocket, she did something completely spontaneous. "Can I have your number?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too keen.

"No!" —_Hmm… not what I was expecting. Overreaction much?_— "I—uh mean, not right now? I don't know my number off by heart and my phone's buried under all my gear..."

It kind of sounded like he was making excuses, but she didn't push it. "Sure, do you want mine? You can add it in later," she offered, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Behind his rider, Toothless ambled over to the nearest team's desks and started rummaging around, knocking a few desk toys to the floor as he went.

"Yes," he answered easily. "But I don't have a pen." He appeared to visibly deflate.

Toothless waddled back, something trapped between his jaws. A pen. He poked the rider in the side with the tip and he took it gratefully. A string of saliva was still joined to the dragon's maw, but he didn't seem to care. The rider yanked off a glove, drool-pen poised and she reeled off a set of digits. He scribbled them down on the back of his hand.

"Text me," she told him.

"I won't hesitate," he replied — a whispered promise — as she slipped back out through the double doors in search of the middle-aged Drekahjarta patron who was her lift back home.

* * *

_Sunday_

**Unknown:** hi it's… errr… me? _10:10_

**You: **Hi, Me _10:16_

—You changed contact name to "Me"—

**Me:** how r u? _10:16_

**You:** Frosty. Was starting to think you'd forgotten about me. _10:17_

**Me: **never. _10:17_

**Me: **did the soot come out? _10:18_

**You:** Eventually. _10:18_

**You:** You need a name. _10.18_

**Me: **i have a name _10:19_

**You:** An Alias. I'm tired of calling you 'rider' or 'you'. _10.20_

**You:** How about Dragon Boy? _10.20_

—You changed contact name to "Dragon Boy"—

**Dragon Boy:** how about no _10.21_

—You changed contact name to "no"—

**You: **If you insist, no. _10.22_

**no: **stop it _10.22_

**You:** Make me, Mr. no. _10.23_

**no: **how? _10.23_

**You:** I dunno, come up with a better name. _10.25_

**no: **you're the only one who has a problem with my name. you think of one _10.26_

**You: **I did. _10.26_

**no: **a good one _10.27_

**You: **Fiiine… _10.28_

**no: **astrid? _10.57_

**You: **Nightfall _19.36_

**no: **i like it _19.48_

**You: **Really? _19.49_

**no:** yh it sounds badass _19.50_

—You changed contact name to "Nightfall"—

**You: **Good. I was working on it all day lol. _19.51_

**Nightfall: **aww i feel special _19.53_

**You:** Don't let it go to your head. _19.54_

**Nightfall:** me? never. im hurt _19.55_

**You:** Haha. Good. _19.55_

**Nightfall: **:P _19.56_

* * *

Aside from messaging Nightfall, Astrid had barely been on her phone. She had been powering through the mountain of homework that she was assigned the week before as she'd left herself no time to do it on Saturday. Her father had been busy at work making preparations for the next race of the Thunder Run and hadn't been around much lately. That was why when Monday rolled around, she was completely and utterly blindsided.

Fortunately Ruffnut got to her first, bounding up to her the second she set foot on campus. "Tell me _everything_! How did you two meet? What did he say to you? Something obviously happened, so spill. Spiiiiil!" pleaded the other girl, voice pitching as she drew out the syllable dramatically.

Ruffnut was hanging off her every word, which was… unusual to say the least. Normally Ruff's crazy weekend stories took precedent first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and all times in between.

"Huh, spill what? Care to fill me in?" she asked, shifting her bag strap higher up her slender shoulder as they walked together in step.

She was accustomed to Ruff's nonsensical melodrama, but this was something else. Astrid shook her head, noting how the entire student body seemed to be eavesdropping on their conversation.

"The tea!" pressed Ruff. "What happened on Saturday at the races between you and that mystery rider guy?"

"How do you know about that?" Astrid asked, suddenly very cagey. She didn't want to give her friend any more amunition than she already had. But that was difficult considering she didn't even know what Ruff thought she knew. _Gah, too complicated, too early, too little sleep…_

"What rock have you been living under!? It's all over social media, everyone's talking 'bout it," she exclaimed.

Ruff loaded up one of her most frequented blogs, dedicated to dragon racing, then DragonNet, then FaceBerk, then TerrorMail… She was right, it really was _everywhere_. It was just two images. The first was her outside the Pit, holding Nightfall's hand; juxtaposed with picture two, a very incriminating snapshot of her emerging, covered in soot. A red circle drew attention to the black smudge on her nose. _Damn reporters, pulling at strings._

The caption (though superfluous to requirement) read: _How do you think that got there?_

"I can explain…" Astrid began. Ruff waited, uncharacteristically patient, for a personal record (a count of ten) as she floundered for words. "Honestly, nothing happened—"

"There is a sooty handprint on your boob," the other girl deadpanned. "Try explain your way out of that one and stay fashionable."

"He fell on top of me," she tried.

Ruff didn't buy it. "That's no excuse for getting all handsy."

Astrid huffed. "He didn't— the dragon—"

"—Was in on it!" she interrupted, staring at her as if she had just uncovered some deep-rooted conspiracy to make a pass at her friend.

"Do you want to jump to crazy conclusions or do you want to hear what really happened?" silenced Astrid, ready to tell the whole truth and set the record straight.

Ruff backed off, looking pleased. Astrid felt totally played. "Do tell, Miss. Hofferson," she prompted with a grin.

The girl begrudgingly proceeded give an accurate recount of the events of her weekend to Ruff, omitting only the fact that she had given Nightfall her number and that they had texted a little the day before. She figured the truth was easier than getting caught in a lie; the twins were like human lie-detectors anyway, so there really was no point.

"So you didn't make out? Yawn," said Ruff dismissively.

"No. We did not," she replied evenly. "I didn't even see his face." She said that part louder so everyone could hear, but it didn't do much good — they just weren't ready to drop it yet.

They arrived at their lockers with a few minutes to spare before period one, but Astrid already felt exhausted. Everyone was staring at her, trying to listen in on her conversation and uncover a new part of the story and it was really grating.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, Snotlout appeared as if summoned by some higher power, Hel-bent on torturing her.

"Babe! I had such a great weekend," he called out as he strutted towards them. His raised voice drew the gazes of everyone who wasn't already watching Astrid.

"That's nice for you," she deflected.

"For us," he corrected. _Where is he going with this?_ "See, there's something you should know. I'm _the rider_." He looked up at her through his lashes, trying to be _alluring _or something… honestly who knew with Snot. Suffice to say it was not working.

"Pfft… Nice try." Astrid turned to leave. This was his most ridiculous ploy to date. But as far-fetched and hilarious as it was, it got old _fast_.

"You don't recognise me? Maybe this will refresh your memory…"

Catching her hand, he pulled her into his chest and puckered up. Delivering a swift kick to his unmentionables, Astrid broke free of his hold and took a step back. His knees gave way and he collapsed like a tent with no poles, spineless, fillitted. Expelling a rattling wheeze, Snotlout's bulging eyes turned on Astrid with a heated gaze, cursing under his breath.

Unaffected by his pathetic whimpers, Astrid stepped over the puddle of Snotlout and made her way to homeroom.

* * *

_Monday_

**Nightfall:** im sorry. i should've known that would happen _16.25_

**You: **It's fine. I dealt with it. _16.29_

**Nightfall:** i know _16.29_

**You: **wdym? _16.31_

**Nightfall: **i know you can take care of yourself _16.31_

**You:** Damn straight. _16.32_

* * *

The next day, Astrid was prepared for the stares. She got to her locker early and managed to avoid Snotlout completely. On the plus side, she bumped into someone else. Someone she had actually been hoping to run into again.

"Hey, Hiccup," she greeted.

His head shot up, colliding solidly with the locker door panel. Rubbing the injured spot, he spun around to face her. "Astrid. Hey! Hi, Astrid. Hi, Astrid," he stammered.

She raised a brow, but didn't comment on his broken greeting. "So… I've been meaning to ask you about something," she began.

"Oh, yeah?" He seemed to squirm nervously under her gaze. "About what?" he asked, puffing out his cheeks and straightening out his crooked smile into a thin line.

"About how you can repay me… for saving your skin last Monday. I had to put up with Snotlout for the entire week," she reminded him, wrinkling her nose at the unpleasant memory.

"Right, of course…heh. _What else?_" he asked rhetorically, voice cracking and pitched a little too high to feel natural.

Strangely though, he appeared to relax a little more; the tension in his shoulders eased and he met her eyes. The crisp evergreen hues were pretty… mesmerising even.

"Well… I was wondering if there was a teeny-weeny—" she demonstrated the measure with her forefinger and thumb "—chance that you could find out if my application to dragon training has been accepted…?" she probed delicately.

Dragon training was the exclusive crash course run by team _Þruma. _Astrid had submitted her application last month, hoping to get a spot on their intermediate programme, _Stormur Elta_[2]. Whoever placed first in dragon training got their own racing dragon, advanced training and an all access pass to the Paddocks. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be fast-tracked into the team's elite ranks.

The manager of _Þruma,_ Stoick the Vast was in charge of admission, so there was a chance that as his son, Hiccup might actually know who had made the cut. It was a long shot, but what was the harm in asking?

"I would, but I'm sworn to secrecy." He mimed zipping his lips, turning the lock and throwing away the key.

Astrid laughed and played along, catching the key and moving closer to unlock and unzip his mouth. "Please, I'm really good at keeping secrets," she promised.

"Now that is a theory in need of testing…" he agreed cryptically. "Alright…" He paused for dramatic effect... "Yes. Your application was one of the first to be accepted. Kudos." He grinned.

"You mean it?" she asked, studying his face for any sign that he was pulling her leg. _No way. Hiccup can be sarcastic, but I don't think he would lie to my face,_ she reasoned.

Hiccup nodded in affirmation. Her face split into a delighted smile.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.

She released him just as quick, tucking a tuft of fringe behind her ear self-consciously. For a moment, he reminded her of someone else and she had lapsed into misplaced familiarity.

"Thank you, Hiccup."

This meant everything to Astrid. She always knew she'd get out there; she was born to race. Being accepted into _Stormur Elta _was the start of her dragon racing career — she could feel it in her bones. _Watch out Nightfall, here I come. _

The hardest part was not being able to celebrate yet. Knowing in advance came at a price; she had to keep the news to herself or Hiccup could get into trouble for telling her. For now it was their secret, at least until _Þruma _contacted to let her know her application had been successful.

"It was nothing," he said nonchalantly. "Oh— and I guess I'll see you there."

"Huh?"

"Dad stuck me in training this year," he shrugged. "We're going to be in the same set." His voice was distinctly lacklustre.

"You don't seem excited," she pointed out.

How could anyone not be excited about starting dragon training? The course was pretty competitive, so maybe he felt like he was taking the place of someone who deserved a spot on _Stormur Elta._ Perhaps dragon racing didn't interest him, but he didn't want to let his dad down. Whatever it was, she couldn't be sure and could only wonder.

"Not really, but that is a _long _story," said Hiccup. "When it comes to dragon training, Dad and I don't exactly see eye to eye. He's very set in his ways… you'll see what I mean at training," he promised, but it felt a lot more like a warning. "I'll see you around." Hiccup half-smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and left for class.

"Yes — and no more avoiding me!" Astrid called. She felt like she had to bring it up, just to make sure he knew they were friends now.

"I wasn't!" he called back, faux-affronted. "And I won't."

He traced a cross over his heart and was gone, swallowed up by the crowds. But not before Astrid caught the slant of a genuine smile hanging on his lips.

* * *

[1] The official dragon racing codex states that all stiliodromes must have the latest _Eldingar_™ systems in operation. The software was designed by _Ingerman Consolidated._ and first used in the 2030 Thunder Run.

[2] Storm Chaser — the intermediate dragon training course. The beginner's set of lessons is called _Skýjab_ (a truncated version of the word cloudburst in Icelandic) and the advanced set is called _Fellibylur_ (Hurricane in Icelandic).

* * *

**A/N: **So many favourites and follows, I am so happy :)) Thank you everyone for the amazing response to the last chapter! As always concrit is very welcome, so please keep 'em coming! Did Astrid's punishment fit Snotlout's crime? I'm not sure anymore lol. Did some scenes feel underdeveloped, whereas others waffled on forever? I can't tell! _SeNd HeLp…._

Anyway, here are the responses to reviews:

**Night Fire or The Creature**: Thank you :) I hope you enjoy this second chapter.

**RachlovesHTTYDFranchise**: You're right, the main focus of this story is going to be Hiccstrid XD I have so many more ideas since you mentioned _a Cinderella Story_ for where to take this next, so thank you!

**Madur94**: Thank you :) The info about racing helmets was actually taken from stats for a Formula 1 driver's crash helmet. You're right that it should deform to absorb force, but it's the soft foam on the inside that deforms in an accident, not the hard outer shell.

**PaperView**: Thank you! Obviously I am continuing this story, so thanks for your encouragement :)

**BlackJack072**: How could I _not_ update after your lovely review? Thank you!


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